


Monikers

by OhBelieveYouMe



Category: Leap of Faith - Menken/Slater/Cercone
Genre: F/M, Leap of Faith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:36:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhBelieveYouMe/pseuds/OhBelieveYouMe
Summary: I ain’t up here bragging- My life is a disgrace… But lying in my bed one night, I saw the good lord’s face! I cringed beneath the covers, sure the lord would strike me dead. Let me tell you what our savior said– He said;“Jack Newton, I wipe away your shame. I pardon all your sins, but in return, I’ll take your name… Go forth from here and be reborn as Jonas, meaning my prophet, and Nightingale- he who sings!”





	1. Chapter 1

When he met her, he sincerely thought she was the most beautiful human being he’d ever laid eyes on. Bright eyes, light hair tumbling over her shoulders in curls, pinked lips persistently poised in a pout, a smile that made him consider trading in his God to bask in the glow of her, his newest Idol…

She’d brought bread, fresh loaves filled with home-grown ingredients and love that only a purely-souled baker could knead into dough; and presented wine to the ’ _good preacher_ ’ and his angels- a modest offering, but it was quickly made clear that it was indeed all she believed she truly had to give.

Well, Jonas decided he’d have to look into that claim after the revival was over; and so he’d literally begged her to join him in order to partake in the Merlot… she didn’t even consider refusing him.

Even though she’d insisted on needing to leave thrice after the wine was long gone, she put up no fight when he ran fingertips along her jaw line to guide her moral compass back towards him… and when he pressed his lips to hers- Jonas could have sworn he felt her mouth a prayer into the kiss…

As he had expected: there was definitely more to give.  
And as was a typical truth- he was more than willing to take.

When he asked to take her to bed, she whimpered approval, and he hushed her before unwrapping her like a Christmas present: delicately, delectably, deliciously- as if she were a deserved gift the universe had laid before him. In pure admiration, he twirled her curls around his fingertips, desperate to enjoy every inch of her existence…

He had no doubt that she was, and that she’d change his life forever.

Once they were through, she wept, and Jonas had thought there must be a husband or boyfriend off somewhere… until he noted the blood stain on the hotel sheets- many shades a deeper crimson than the blush on her cheeks.

She’d been deflowered by a con man; he could hardly even begin to consider the devastation God would send his way for the thoughtless crime he’d committed against such a rare beauty who could maintain her virginity for almost three decades of existence in this world…

Jonas disappeared that evening, only after two days into the revival- with intentions to never see her again; to protect her soul from being sullied at his hands, to keep her heart beating without giving him a proper chance to break it.

And in his absence;   
She accepted the failed tryst with an ‘Amen’…

* * *

“Jonas-”

He shrugged Sam’s hand off his shoulder, shot a glare her way for interrupting his preparations. “The Hell do you want? I’m getting ready…”

“Jonas,” pleading now, she curled fingers around the opening of his jacket, gave him a quick tug towards a quiet corner. “You need to listen to me, there’s someone outside claiming some shit and I don’t know what to think…”

“I’ll do confessions later, Sam, calm down-” Hoping to reassure her, and not lose the most crucial behind-the-scenes member of his upcoming revival, Jonas held her face in his hands. “There’s nothing anyone out there has that I can’t handle, don’t let anybody get to you.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out; instead, her eyes shot wide and she quite obviously went to staring over his shoulder- Jonas twist on his heel in an effort to see what had her so damn worried.

Standing there, blushing, was none other than the absolute most beautiful woman Jonas had  _ever_  laid eyes on… the same one he’d been so convinced would change his life, all those months ago. She wore a white dress, covered with eyelash lace, and had a crimson shawl over her shoulders.

His first instinct was to embrace her, perhaps even apologize, try for another go at whatever he could get this time around- but he was trapped in his reverie, unable to shake the consideration that there was just something different, about how she was glowing despite there being no lights back stage…

She said his name, or so he thought: unfortunately, he was too distracted to acknowledge how it sent a shiver down his spine. Oh no, instead of her words, he was focused on her hands, the fingertips he’d tasted so long ago- and how she knowingly drew a solitary line down from her heart and over the very noticeable swell of her belly…

Instead of bringing bread, she had arrived with a bun in the oven…

When Jonas had met her, all of those seven months ago, he had carried her to the bedroom, felt as if he held a miracle in his arms… now, watching her splay fingers over the miracle  _she_ held, inside of her…

The room grew hot. The lights went bright.  
And Jonas fell unconscious, to the floor, at Sam’s feet.

“Amen, brother,” she advised simply after giving him a subtle kick to the side.

* * *

Claiming he had been far too overcome by the Holy Spirit, Sam had efficiently dismissed the parishioners while members of the choir sang them out of the tent… Meanwhile, Jonas and their guest was moved to a back room, safe from the judgment of his congregation…

When he’d finally came to- it was the lovely ghost of his past hovering over him, lips beautifully pursed with concern, her fingertips just barely grazing his cheek. “I knew you’d be surprised, but I didn’t quite expect the theatrics…”

Obviously, she really didn’t know him that well- “But…” still slightly dazed, he struggled to sit up, and kept eyes locked on her pregnant belly- “How… How far along?”

Her brows furrowed, “Really?” And she cocked her head to the side- “Seven months, Reverend…”

Of course: the exact amount of time since he’d first, and last, seen her… “Well, how,” realizing the implication, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I mean… do you know for sure that…  _I…?_ ”

Her lips went thin, and she shot him a glare that nearly knocked the air from his lungs… again. “There aren’t any other options, Jonas, unless you happen to be well-versed in miraculous conceptions…”

“What…” It was too much, all at once. Hell, knowing he had been her first had overwhelmed him emotionally- and now here she was, forcing fatherhood into his existence, after all the time they’d been apart. “What do you… want?” Growing more confident, he raised his voice, gave her a wary look- “What do you want from me… for _that_ …?”

Something shifted; something strange and foreign, Jonas couldn’t place a finger on precisely what changed, but he saw her shoulders slump after his question. Her bottom lip trembled, and she took careful steps backwards to put space between them- he instinctively rose to his feet and tried to make up for the gap.

“I don’t… I don’t  _want_  anything-” she nearly tripped over a box of props during her escape attempt, Jonas literally dove to grab hold of her wrist and drag her back to standing before she could tumble, risk a fall. “It just felt  _wrong_  not to,” even if he had been her rescuer, she pulled away, desperately turned her back to him. “This…  _she_  isn’t something wrong or something to  _want_  over, she’s…”

The color drained from his face, and he repeated the new information out loud as an interruption: “She… She… It’s-” a point at her belly, “she’s a… a she?” A girl, a daughter…  _his_  daughter… “What’s her name?”

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know, I haven’t… I thought maybe… just maybe you’d have a suggestion…” she side-stepped away when he made an effort to reach for her. “I’ll be going, now;” the way she said it made it sound like she was doing him a favor, it hurt, in an odd corner of his damned soul.

“But, how-” the gravity of the situation was beginning to push past his initial shock; “How will I find you?”

Working to wipe the traces of crying from her eyes, she shook her head. “Most likely, you won’t.” Defiantly, she turned a cold shoulder towards him, dabbed at her face with her shawl. “It was hard enough just trying to find you.”

“Can’t I call?” Insistently, he followed her, even fumbled with his shirt sleeve so he could bunch the material and try to steal a few of her tears from her cheeks- she swat him away before he had the chance to be sweet; “A number, an address, anything?”

"I’m in the phone book, just look me up.” Hoping to gauge whether or not he’d accept the minimal effort that would be involved, she checked his face… when confronted with pleading eyes and his hand clasping nervously over his mouth, the problem became too clear; “Oh, God… You don’t remember my name…”

Lines of worry sprouted on his forehead- and he dropped to his knees before her. “Please,” Jonas groaned, pressed palms to hers in prayer; “Please, show me pity, I’m begging you- at least a name…” He tangled his fingers through hers, took her hand in his, “please…”

Unable to bear seeing him grovel, she obliged. "Mary,” she hardly managed the syllables through her tears, had to sniffle before confirming- “My name’s Mary…”

Oh, and at that, Jonas laughed through his own self-loathing, loudly. “Of course it is,” he pressed a kiss of contrition to her knuckles, sighed audibly when she stole her hand away. “The Holy Mother…” Without acknowledging his symbolism, she was going to take her leave, but he grabbed fistfuls of her skirt, urging her to wait behind for just one more moment. “Jack… it’s Jack…”

Curiously, Mary peered down at him, closed her shawl tighter over her shoulders in preparation of the night air; “… Jack?”

“My name,” he used his hold on her to pull himself up, so he could properly face her with a strong spine just once more- “My name is Jack, it’s a long story, and I’d love to tell ya all about it if you’ll give me just a chance…”

“Jack,” the phrase was repeated, “Jack,” and she kindly lay a palm against his cheek. The warmth radiating from her hand, “Jack;” the sound of his true name falling from her lips- he pressed his face harder against her skin, tried to imprint himself into her life line, more so than he unwittingly already had; “Jack… goodbye, Jack.”

Just as he had done those many months ago, she disappeared while he was left bewildered, cold- and feeling oh so very alone…

And in her absence, he was forced to accept karma’s twist of fate-  
with none other than an;  _“Amen.”_

* * *

> **_Years Later~_ **

“I TOLD YOU!” A little boy had come running from down the street, only to throw arms into the air and grandiosely motion towards the giant tent that had been erected in their town. “I TOLD ALL’A YOU THAT THE CIRCUS WAS IN TOWN, AND NONE’A YA BELIEVED ME!”

Hearing the commotion, Jonas poked his head out from behind the flaps of the tent, even smiled when he noticed a small collection of children forming outside.

Perfect. Best welcoming committee ever.

“Not quite, but that depends who you ask…” upon announcing his presence, the kids gasped, and a set of three little girls went to clapping their hands together. “I don’t have clowns, but I can certainly make a miracle happen if you all believe…”

“Believe what, Mister?” An older boy crossed arms over his chest, boldly stepped out ahead of the spectators behind him. “Make a miracle… you know magic tricks?” 

“Our Holy Father, of course!” Jonas pointed towards the sky, watched with pride as the gaggle of kids followed his motioning and began to study clouds. “The only thing anyone has to believe in is Him, and you’d never believe what kind’a miracles can happen.”

Unimpressed, that boy shrugged. “Already got’a father, Mister,” the other children roared with laughter, “Last thing I need is ‘nother…”

Acknowledging the… mental state of his young audience… Jonas raised hands in surrender. “Oh trust me, I do too, but my old man was a real brute-” an indifferent spread of his arms, and the children began to listen more carefully: “That’s why I love our Holy Father so dearly… he’s the best Father around…”

Much to the surprise of those around her, the youngest of the horde shoved past them. “Hey, Mister, ‘scuze me, please-” An adorable little girl, with dark curls and absolutely striking green eyes, tugged at the bottom hem of his jacket. “Hey, Mister; Excuse me, you think your Father would like me? Maybe?”

Kindly, he offered a smile, and even crouched down so he’d be on her level. “Trust me, sweetheart,” when she grinned back at him, he reached for her hand- “The Holy Father loves you even more than your Earthly Father could.”

Her little nose crunched, and he couldn’t decide why he thought it was so incredibly precious. “I don’t got one, only a Mommy,” the confession came with a pout, and her gaze fell to the ground between them- for some reason, the sentiment nearly made Jonas’ heart break. “So if there’s one that likes me, I wanna know.”

One that likes her? He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone couldn’t ‘ _like_ ’ such a polite little girl. “In that case, you should have your Mommy bring you by tonight… What’s your name, sweetheart?” Hoping to brighten the mood, he switched his hold so he had one of her hands in each of his own, forcefully twist her side to side so her curls would bounce while her skirt twirled. “You’re the prettiest lil’ deja-vu I’ve ever had, I think I’ve seen an angel that looks like you before, I swear it…”

The sweet girl blushed, giggled, and drug her toes through the dirt.   
Her little lips began to part, but she was interrupted…

“Jay, c’mon-” before she could oblige him with an answer, the older boy was yanking at her sleeve, trying to guide her back with the group and out of Jonas’ grasp. “Your momma’s gonna tell  _my_  father if I don’t make sure ya get back home with us… Plus you shouldn’t talk ta strangers, you’re still little…”

“Oh, I’m sure her momma won’t mind: I’m a preacher, not a stranger.” Thoughtfully, Jonas curled a finger under the girl’s chin when her smirk was replaced with a frown, aimed her face up so he could look into her eyes again. For some reason, the irresistible urge came over him- he twirled a few strands of her curls about his fingertips. There was something about her that he was drawn to, familiar with, in a way he could hardly even begin to describe. “How ‘bout you all head on home and have your parents bring you back tonight? Tell ‘em there’s a Revival, they’ll know what it is, and tell ‘em Reverend Nightingale personally invited ya’ll…”

“Reverend Nightingale,” the little girl repeated before allowing the older children to gather her back in with the flock. “I’ll tell ‘er, Reverend Nightingale…”

“Good girl,” Jonas didn’t try to disturb their leaving; she sweetly waved back at him as the kids started their trek back to town- he wriggled fingers her way in return… they’d be back, he knew it… and hopefully their parents would be there too, with open pockets…

_Amen…_

* * *

Just as he had hoped, nearly all the children had come back that evening, hesitant parents in tow. He shook hands, traded smiles and greetings, received a few high-fives and girlish giggles from the tiny fans he’d made earlier. 

It was hard  _not_  to notice, however, that the specific girl he’d been sucking up to hadn’t yet arrived. It bothered him, in an odd corner of his heart, and as the crowd began to dwindle- his curiosity got the best of him.

Gently, Jonas lay a hand on the shoulder of the boy who had been dictating the tiny gang earlier, twist him about. “Where’s that little girl? The one who’s Momma you said would be mad?”

The boy tried to recall the day’s events, “Jacqueline?” 

Jonas nodded, “I think ya’ll called her Jay..?”

“Oh, her Momma said no,” a look of terror came over the lad’s face, and he rocked up to tiptoes in order to whisper something further- “Miss Mary said there was no way in…” a check towards his own mother, “well Miss Mary used a bad word, but she said there was no way in HECK they’d be coming…”

At the mention of the crass language, the boy’s mother jumped, and thoughtfully went to digging through her bag. “Mary’s a school teacher around here, wonderful woman, she must have just been stressed,” in subtle punishment for outing the absent teacher’s uncharacteristically foul tongue, the boy’s mother made sure to thwap him in the head with the bundles she was handing over to Jonas. “I couldn’t fathom being a single mother like she is, poor thing, and poor Jackie- but she always finds time to bake, asked me to bring these along for you… Said something about how those who wander shouldn’t do so on an empty stomach.”

Always willing to accept a gift, Jonas delicately unwrapped the patterned towels, to reveal two loaves of beautifully scented, fresh bread…

He blinked… The deja-vu was back…   
Bread. Miss Mary. Miss Mary and her daughter…  _Jacqueline_ …  
Apparently, he actually  _had_  had a suggestion…

The smile faded off the preacher’s face as the puzzle fell together, but somehow he just managed a brief sentiment of gratitude while still staring at his present…

The boy and his family went along to their seats, and Jonas excused himself to a room where he could rot in his own solitude… It could be a coincidence, sure, it was even remotely  _likely_  that it was no more than life playing a sick trick on him.

But, when he caught just a glimpse of his own face in a mirror: he realized precisely why he had been so convinced he’d seen that precious little girl’s eyes before… they were just as green as his… and why he had been so adoring of her curls… he’d had lighter ringlets like those tangled through his fingers before…

That evening, he began the revival with a prayer-  
And ended it, in tears, with an _‘Amen’_ …


	2. Monikers & Messages

At least he knew it was a Hell of a show.

A little emotion goes a long way, especially in a small town: Jonas had perfected it, became the master puppeteer of miracles. He could play heart strings the way angels could strum at harps- he was an expert, amidst only people more than willing to be played…

But tonight, he didn’t have to fake it.

Tonight: his begging was real, sincere. While on that stage- he prayed to God, to Allah, to Buddah, and that Yahweh he’d heard someone shout about before. For a miracle, for courage, for sense, for a sign that he wasn’t just a dead beat dad conning a small town out of their money…

They made plenty in tithes that night, though.  
And, honestly, Sam was rather proud.

“Nine HUNDRED dollars-” she fanned the bills out, waved them his way to create a small flow of air from the cash. “We wiped the floor with these suckers, it took nothin’ except for you bein’ a big cry-baby…”

Frustrated, he kicked at the table, sent a basket with dollar bills and loose change tumbling off and onto the floor. “Who cares!?” He announced theatrically, while tossing arms into the air. “None of it matters, anyway… it’s all a farce, a damn sham…”

With a quirked brow, Sam bent, and began plucking up the fallen currency from the floor. “I mean, I care… I dunno how much your Jimminy Cricket charges, but I’d appreciate if that conscience stays out of my cut…”

“You don’t even know-” he motioned to his own chest, where the ache his theatrics had come from, “the shit I’ve been through tonight, Sam…”

Her eyes went wide, but she smartly gathered the money into her pocket. “Sorry, Mother Theresa, I didn’t realize the struggle was so ‘real’ for white men around here…”

A glare, then he exhaled his inhibitions with the breath he’d been holding. “Sam… Sam, I think… I think I have a daughter…”

Immediately, she gasped, dropped everything in her arms to the floor- and nearly tripped over her own heels until she managed to prop herself up against a nearby door frame. “A… A  _what!?_ A little Jonas-ita?”

“Worse-” thankful to not be the only one trapped in confusion, he walked nearer so he could speak in urgent, hushed tones. “Sam… it’s someone, someone you  _might_  remember… and I fucked up, Sam, I know-”

Her hands went to her chest, and she covered her heart behind one palm while concealing her lips with the other. “I might remember? Who? Did they sing for us-?”

“Damnit, Sam, no, she didn’t sing for us…” 

“I’m just asking!” In defense, she threw her hands up, before twisting to pick up all the items she’d previously dropped. “I don’t know anything about your illegitimate children, sorry-”

“Well, damnit Sam…” he shouted, began to whine- she actually shut her mouth long enough to give him proper attention. “There was this… this girl, a few years ago, she even came back fully-” to prove the point without having to say it, he mimed a rounded bit of air over his stomach. “And I… I sent her away, Sam, I didn’t know… I should have,” he actually fell, tripped over a box really, but ended up on his ass atop a crude ottoman. “I… Fuck, Sam, I met her. I met the girl, she might… she may actually… be  _mine…”_

_“_ You met her?” Despite his initial expectations, Sam went for him, lay a hand atop his shoulder to try and rattle him her way. “Wait, you met her? The girl? What was she like?”

Jonas whimpered, held his head in his hands. “Christ, Sam, she has to be like… like four by now…” in respect, his sister went to give him space, began to act busy with staging issues, “I don’t know anything about kids, and I missed it…”

“Almost six,” she corrected, automatically, while still working to gather up effects from the show…

… The mere mention, however, caused Jonas to pause- “Excuse me?”

“Almost,” Sam nodded sympathetically, while balancing an armful of wires under one arm and a fistful of music books in the other. “She’s almost six now-”

Before she bothered pointing out that Jacqueline had been born in June and it was already May… Sam just so happened to realize that it would possibly be rather  _odd_  that she knew…  **that**.

“Excuse me-” Jonas repeated, and took a few long strides towards his sister. “I’m sorry… are you saying that you actually know precisely how old  _my_ daughter is?”

She cringed, crunched her nose, and shut her eyes tight. “So we should really talk about the water works on the stage, it’s cute, but they probably want someone with a little more fortitude to lead them to God-”

“Sam,” in one move, he smacked the equipment out of her grasp, “what else do you  _know_  about all of this?”

“… You can’t actually be mad, you should really be thankful-”

“THANKFUL?!” He screamed, she cringed. “Thankful for what- that you kept MY DAUGHTER a secret FROM ME?” Howling now, really, it was unreasonable- she placed fingers over her lips in hopes to hush him… “HOW LONG SAM!?”

“SINCE THE BEGINNING-” now she was shouting, and shoving him away with smartly planned palms against his chest. “I followed her out after you fucked it up somehow, she gave me her number.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!?”

“BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!” The blame had changed courts, and ash aimed an accusing finger his way. “I had to find out from a pregnant… a pregnant woman, at a revival, that YOU had a baby comin’.” Crudely, she made the same motion he had earlier, indicating a pregnant belly she certainly didn’t possess. “A baby, Jonas, a daughter; a little bitty baby girl!”

He could only sigh: “Why wouldn’t you give me her number?”

Another howl, nearly primal, before she bothered responding- “YOU NEVER ASKED!” Her fingers splayed, he actually winced away to avoid a slap he assumed would be coming his way. “You never mentioned it, you never even told me she was-” Sam whined, began to cradle air and rock nothing back and forth in her arms, “a baby, we have  _flesh and blood_  out there, Jonas, and you have never ONCE acknowledged it-”

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think; he took a seat atop a bench.

“She looks just fuckin’ like you too, it’s so gross-” before he could bother asking, she was storming across the room, plucking up the binder she always carried around with her– from a nearby table. “When she was born, it was with dark hair, and-” a few little square pieces of paper were pulled, thrown directly his way, “those eyes, damnit, you’d get laughed off daytime TV if you tried to deny her…”

The photograph had fallen at his feet; three of them, actually.  
Three tiny, shiny pictures of what felt like a mirror, staring straight back at him.

The first held Mary, obviously, with her hair braided over a shoulder, sat up in a hospital bed. In her arms, a bundle, much like the ones of bread she’d brought for him before- but this little bunch of pink blankets had a teeny tiny hand poking out of it, with fingers curled around one of Mary’s fingers…

The second: just a baby, sprawled out and naked save for a cloth diaper and a hat with a giant bow on it… well, baby Jacqueline. She was laid beside a measuring stick- just about eighteen inches from the top of her hat to the last of her itsy~bitsy toes… 

The final was that same little infant, now dressed up in pajamas thrice it’s size, pink with little ballerina shoes printed all over the jumper. Jonas saw her eyes, wide and opened, staring straight into the lens… green, brilliant and resplendent, even while only however old she could have possibly been when the shot was snapped.

Who cut the umbilical cord, he wondered?  
Who chose the outfit she wore… probably Mary, maybe a mother or friend?  
Who held onto her mother’s hand when that precious girl came into the world-  
Who had bundled the two up into a car to take them home?  
Did they check the baby carrier? The seat belts?  
Did she eat well, was she kept warm, who knitted that blanket?

Who was the first to tell her her name;  _Jacqueline_ …  
And, finally, who was the one to tell her she was named after her  _father_ …

If, of course, anyone had bothered to?

Jonas held the little photographs to his chest, clenched his eyes shut and didn’t even try to hold back his tears. He saw himself, in those little baby eyes, in each of her tiny pink fingertips and toes… How dare he: how  _dared_  he actually ask, when Mary had come to him swollen and scared- he should have known, should have held her, should have stayed…

“How long have you been in contact with them, Sam?”

Desperately, she went for the pictures, efficiently wrangled them away after a couple smacks at his face. “Since she left that night… I gave her my number.”

Though he tried to lunge for repossession, he realized the act was futile- there was no way Sam would give up the coveted photographs of her… of her little  _niece_ … “How often, do you two…?”

“We three… About twice a year.” Delicately, she put the pictures back into her binder, tucked them safely away behind a few other programs and schedules she went nowhere without. “Usually her birthday, and around Christmas… She started, uh-” Sam was sniffling, and darting to a drawer, “she is  _shit_  at spelling, let me tell ya, but I think Mary helps her…”

Within moments, she procured a card, handed it over with a cheesy smirk on her face. It was simple, computer paper, still had the reams of holed borders on the side…

But in the middle, of the cover, a giant misshapen pink heart.  
Within that heart, three letters, and a maybe-Christmas-tree, with very poorly written text;

> _S-A-M._

It was a Christmas card, for Sam.

Jonas opened it up, noted the bad penmanship inside; 

> _“I LOV U PENPAL. THANK U FOR LETTTERS. MERRY CHRISTMAS. MORE POST CARDS PLEASE. BYE SAMI. LOVE JACKIE”_

When he checked her face after deciphering the Crayola context, he noticed his sister was tearing up.

“It’s the first one, uh,” she snatched it from him, grandiosely sniffed away the emotions she so rarely showed. “It’s the first one she’s actually… written herself; she’ll prolly get better at it eventually.”

He chuckled, watched on as the letter was stowed away in the same place… actually, below and behind, where he knew she kept her cut of the tithes; secured, in her little safe. “Surely, but for… Almost-six, that ain’t so bad…”

Sam rolled her eyes, kicked at the desk while running fingertips beneath her eyes to fix her running makeup. “She keeps it up she’ll have better sermons than you,” confident her sadness was tucked back, she went to work picking the fallen cords from the ground. “You’ll have two next-generation-preachers for the pulpit, ready to show you for the novelty fraud ya are.”

“Sam-” He stopped her, with a subtle grip on her arm. “You know her address… tell me where to go.” When she tried to pull away, he held on tighter, pleaded in the most pathetic manner he knew how- “I just wanna talk to Mary… imagine if you could sit and talk to her, little Jackie… instead of waiting and making us late to goin’ to the next town because the mail hadn’t run yet?”

Yes, that had happened, a few times before- though she’d come up with much more interesting stories than having to admit she was waiting on a letter about a baby states away… “Where on Earth would I actually talk to her? What about?”

“I’ll buy you two ice cream,” The offer was enticing, and bought him time to think of more- “We’ll go to the park… it’s Spring out, Sammy, we can go have a picnic somewhere, this town is cute as shit-”

“She likes butterflies,” a twinkle, one he hadn’t seen since they were far younger, sparked in Sam’s eyes; “there’s a couple places with a lot of flowers around here… I bet Mary would come… if you didn’t.”

His jaw went slack: “I’m going too, obviously-”

The binder snapped shut, Sam hugged it to her chest, and pursed her lips. “If you’re invited. I’d rather see both of them than just one’a you… I see you all the time.”

“Let me go talk to them,” Jonas reached across, tucked a fingertip under the internal ring of a binder so he held partial custody. “I’ll talk her into it… She already likes me, the girl will be easy-”

“Your girl:” Sam interrupted him, sternly stiffed her arm between them so he had to step away. “If this isn’t about Jacqueline, I don’t want you near ‘em… She’s not a mark, not a target… she’s  _my penpal_  until you an’ Mary say otherwise-” for clarification, she aimed a pointed finger between his eyes. “And  _only_  if Mary says otherwise… or I’m not helping.”

He nodded, seriously, sincerely, “this is  _all_  about her… I wanna meet her Sam, really, I wanna know her– don’t you?” When she sighed, he carefully pulled the binder from her hands, to which she provided minimal resistance. “Who knows? Maybe we make it one of those… legit things: you could show her the world, instead of sending her post cards…”

While Jonas pulled an envelope out, Sam began to beg: “Seriously, Jonas… I want this, you can’t fuck it up… this is about more than you.”

“I know,” he read the address in the corner, bit the inside of his lip. “I know, Sam, trust me- I’m trying…” where did his phone go? Not willing to wait for the search, he pulled the phone from her pocket, expertly unlocked the code and slid over to ‘Google Maps’. “I’m trying to do the right thing…”

Before he could finish typing in the street name, Sam rocked to tip toes, slid over to ‘Bookmarks’, and managed to click in the address within mere moments of time compared to how busy he had been. “Don’t fuck this up…”

Jonas only nodded, pursed his lips while examining the map that had popped up far too quickly for it to be the first time. “I won’t Sam… I’ll make a miracle out of this… watch me.”

And Sam could only pray he actually would…

_Amen._


End file.
